Lately my work has taken a decidedly introspective turn.
Maybe its the rain. Or the long nights. Or the cooler weather. Or the silent brooding that overtakes me when I'm trying to figure something out. I'm a master at silent brooding. It makes for some good times around the dinner table. Just ask my husband.
Whatever the cause, my gaze has turned decidedly inward: to my work, my future, my nagging doubts. And as a result, I've been culling through old images finding new ways to use them. It's become almost ritual.
I call these images winter portraits because I think they reflect what happens in nature this time of year. A long night's rest necessary for the growth of spring.
It's fitting, now that I think about it, this obsession with winter, and growth, and what lies just underneath. One of those things I've been brooding about is what to do about the rest of my MFA.
I decided to return to school next semester. The spring semester.
I'd pretty much abandoned the idea after moving here to LA. An on-line program didn't really sound all that appealing to me--and I wasn't sure if I could commit to another few years of digging in the trenches while I finished up the program. Student life, at my age--it seemed ridiculous--it still does.
And yet. I'm persevering.
Maybe that's what I've been looking for these past few weeks, as I've rattled around the archives of my old work--the confidence to know that growth follows rest, and that even the most barren surface cultivates new life. And that my silent brooding actually does serve a purpose--so the next time Rick asks me what's wrong-- I can honestly answer: